Clutter

I've been talking to one of my best friend's girlfriend about sex. She has kind of lost interest in him (though not him in her) after seven or more years of dating. She's looking to me for tips on how to put some spark back into their sex life. Me! How the hell should I know?

We also flirt a lot. She looks a lot like Mariel Hemingway crossed with a pro volleyballer. She's very fit, and could easily kick my ass. She is a total tomboy; wrestles guys, and usually wins. When we're flirting we'll talk on the phone, or send literally dozens of short emails back and forth for hours, full of double entendres. Then she goes home and jumps his bones.

In the flirting I'm pushing to have sex with her. I even suggest days and times, like the two days a week she works late and he is at a night class.

He's one of my best friends. I wouldn't sleep with her. Would I?

~

I keep trying to handle these menial tasks that have been hanging over my head for days, weeks, months, and even years. It's killing me. I wonder whether it's learned helplessness (that's a scientific/psychological phenomenon) or what I believe is the obvious chemical imbalance in my brain. Was it the way my dad raised me, or should I say, failed to raise me? Is it the way I'm made? Or is it my own fault?

~

Sometimes when I'm caught up in my wretchedness I close a window on my computer and see the desktop. The background is an image of my daughter, looking upward, with a big smile on her face. God, the hope, the promise, my hopes for her, the promises I pray I don't break.

Jesus.

I feel like I've failed her already.


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